


Bonds

by Agent314



Series: Strings [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Big Brother Mycroft, Biker Lestrade, Feels, M/M, More Feels, Mycroft Feels, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red String of Fate, Romance, Scars, Soul Bond, agent mycroft, lestrade's heart is golden, mycroft needs a new heart, or just to admit that his is actually beating, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent314/pseuds/Agent314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft promised himself he would never love.</p><p>Happiness was overrated, and placing all of it in a person was stupid, because that person could be taken away from him and leave him empty, broken... He couldn't allow himself to feel a thing; he became an Ice statue.</p><p>Gregory promised himself he would never give up.</p><p>Happiness was something everybody deserved, he knew he did and he wanted it. He just didn't know if he could keep searching forever, trying to keep the smile on place as years passed by and his string became endless. He couldn't give up; he became a dreamer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ice Man

When Mycroft was thirteen; his father died and took his mother’s will with him.

 He saw it happen, right in front of his eyes; his mother crumbled and disappeared as well as his father’s heartbeat. The shell left of her was a sobbing mess that could barely handle the blinding pain of losing the person she loved the most and seeing the string attached to her wrist turn black, leaving him in charge of making the important calls and taking his brother away so he didn’t see what was left of his parents, what was left of his family.

The day they buried his father, Mycroft buried his heart as well.

He couldn’t love like his mother had loved his father; he couldn’t allow himself to be destroyed in that way. He closed the doors to his feelings and became a machine, keeping his mind busy and trying to put his mother back together, taking care of himself and his brother.

Sherlock never understood.

He hadn’t seen their mother when they told her their father was dead, he wasn’t there, he just cried into theirs Nana’s arms and was calmed by Papa’s voice as he promised him that everything was going to be alright.

It wasn’t.

His mother’s cries still ringed in Mycroft’s head at night, the ghost of his father heavy on his back and the responsibility of taking care of his family ate him alive, he was just thirteen when he had to hold to his mother’s hands to stop her from scratching her face off because of the grief she felt, and he couldn’t allow himself to ever become her, he loved her but he locked that love in a box and threw the key inside his father’s grave.

People kept telling him it was going to be okay; eventually everything was going to be alright.

But it never was.

At least not for Mycroft, especially after Sherlock took it against him, resenting his decision of closing his heart, kept telling him that he was stupid for not seeing how amazing bonds were and how useful they could be to strengthen the human soul.

Mycroft could only think on how a bond had broken his mother’s.

He grew up before his time, at fifteen he was a certified genius and people was afraid of him, he was a social creature but they knew he could manipulate them like they were jus rag dolls for his entertainment, disposed as soon as he got bored of them or weren’t useful enough.

Ice man, they called him, they went to him because of interest and fear, asking for his help to solve mindless problems and in change he got favors, even from his teachers.

They called Sherlock a Monster.

He tried to stop them but eventually gave up, his brother’s intentions got all mixed up and people never saw him as he was, took him for a freak and made fun of him, never in front of Mycroft, but he knew, everybody knew.

He graduated early and got himself a job in national security, being shipped off to strange countries barely at eighteen, training to become a real agent for MI5, learning to charm his way into people giving him information and taking a strange pleasure in torturing those who denied it to him, suddenly becoming a demon in the shadows of the system, feared by many and respected by even more.

He was building a kingdom and getting himself a crown, he had no use for a heart.

When Sherlock was eighteen he was still at college, which was a surprise to him, his brother had little patience for the nonsense his teachers gave him, being smarter than the lot of them already, but there was something holding him there, someone. Victor Trevor fed his brother’s idea of love being a good thing, exchanging feelings and sharing a strange bond that was half friendship and half love, thing that they needed because they knew they weren’t threaded.

When Sherlock was nineteen he felt heartbreak for the first time and Mycroft couldn’t pity him, he knew how it felt, losing someone you loved and thought loved you back, maybe not in the same way but he knew what it felt like to walk around with your heart in pieces, his was broken in parts so tiny that he might as well swept them under the carpet and forget about it.

Mycroft was now an active agent for MI6 and was well known for his cold hearted ways, they said he was a vampire, already dead and still walking the land of the living, taking their secrets away like blood and destroying them without breaking a bone, he was feared and respected, admired, worshiped…

The ice King, they called him.

He had no heart, no time for feelings, caring was not an advantage; he reminded himself every night, thinking of his mother, alone in their old house and trying to pretend she was alright even when her heart broke every morning when the other side of her bed was empty, unable to smile sincerely and crying every time she saw what Mycroft had become, like it was a bad thing that he had achieved all of this.

Those nights, the ones he went to visit his mother, hurt him like a bullet wound, and he could honestly say; he had been shot a couple of times.

He thought that caring was not an advantage but he couldn’t help but to care about his mother, and sit with her and hold her in his arms as she cried, wiping her tears away and promising that everything was okay, talking to her about Sherlock’s obsession on other people's love life and making fun of him if only to see her lips curve a little at the corners. He would make tea and sit with her in the garden, gazing at the stars and think of what others would say if they saw him there, next to his old mother and actually acting as if blood was pumping through his veins, making the heart everybody (including him) denied existed.

One night Mycroft stood in a room full of bodies, all of their strings dissolving into ash, being burned by death and sweeping away into the wind. That night he went back to his apartment, locked the doors and sat on his bed, looking at his wrist and thinking, for the first time in years, about the other end.

Was there really someone waiting for him? He wasn’t waiting for anybody and most people got a surprise when they actually met him and saw the vibrant red string hanging from his wrist, always expecting to see black tied around it, as if the tragic death of his threaded was the reason of his frozen heart. He thought of cutting it a lot, but something stopped him every single time, this night was going to be the one.

At least that was what he told to himself, grabbing his Chinese ring daggers.

He was going to cut it; he was going to end it.

The little voice in the back of his head that occasionally whispered to him that he could be loved and deserved it needed to shut up, and he was going to do it tonight.

He didn't

He almost did it this time, but his hands shook so bad that he ended up cutting himself and throwing his daggers at the wall in a fit of rage. He couldn’t do it and couldn’t understand what stopped him.

He forgot about it, buried it as deep as his feelings and kept on living, fueled by his own anger and when it finally exploded; he ended up hurting himself in a mission.

If someone asked him, he would tell them it had been nothing, just a little mistake and a couple of scrapes, really, nothing to worry about, every agent got a stab wound or two and a couple of bullets here and now, it was nothing new, he was okay.

If someone asked his partner, “Anthea”, she would tell them the same, trying to forget about what had really happened, trying to erase the memory of Mycroft beaten and tortured, chained to a wall with his body bloodied and barely alive, it had taken months for him to even get up and walk around without fainting. It had been the worst she had ever seeing, no one in her unit had ever being treated and tortured the way Mycroft had been and she knew he was not okay.

Not that she ever told a soul about it. It was their secret, it would be forever.

After that, he got a desk job and slowly became the king in the shadows, the one to rule without a soul knowing. Sherlock called him the real British government and was always asking for favors to get his way, breaking into important buildings and trying to hide the fact that he had already believed Mycroft’s words and forgot about love but still keeping a little bit of hope locked in his heart.

Mycroft gave his mother a last visit, just to let her know he was fine and that he wasn’t coming back, and then threw whatever was left of his heart as far as he could, he didn’t need it, he couldn’t need it, he was already too broken to let himself believe in something as useless as love, allowing himself to be too close to someone else was something he couldn’t do, people could be taken away and he knew it all too well. He threw his heart away and hoped to never need it again.

So, of course, he met Gregory Lestrade and his heart came back to punch him in the gut.

Hard.


	2. The Dreamer

When Gregory was thirteen, he broke a bone for the first time.

He was an active child, always making a mess around the house and bothering his older sisters, that day hadn’t being the exception, he was running around like a wild animal and getting himself dirty in the backyard, his cat, Boris, running after him and trying to pounce at the loose shoelaces of his boots. His newest cardboard sword needed a try after his last one was destroyed at an epic battle at school, so of course he would be wrecking havoc while his mother was at work and his father had a guest to attend to.

A chirping sound put a stop to his running; his curiosity spiking.

He found the source of the sound down the big tree his grandma had planted in their yard when she was just a child herself; the tiniest bird was calling for its family, most likely having fallen down it’s nest and desperate to go back home. Greg picked it up and looked at the braches, trying to find the nest and smiling wide as he found it, putting the bird inside his shirt’s pocket and getting ready to climb to it, even when his father forbade him to doing so.

When he got to the nest, he made sure to tuck the little birdie in it and smile at its siblings, a couple more of identical baby birds that were chirping happily to be reunited again. He looked at the birds one last time, smiling proud of himself as he tried to figure out how to get down, trying to make as little noise as possible so his father didn’t find out about him climbing the tree.

 He wasn’t careful enough.

He doesn’t really remember what happened, he just knows he fell and pain washed over him, making him scream and alerting his family of his whereabouts, his father was mad at him for ignoring his orders but cradled him in his arms and took him to the hospital, kissing his forehead and telling him he was going to be alright, holding him close when the nurse brought over a needle and the doctor explained to him the damaged he had done to himself.

 His mother came over after a while, smiled at him, kissed his head as well and told him he was going to be alright.

And he was; he got an amazing cast on his leg and all his friends signed it and drew cool things on it for him, his father and his mother did too, and even his sisters couldn’t resist drawing a little smiley face and a tiny heart on it.

He got better, but for some reason; he never forgot about the pain that took over his mind, blinding and drowning everything else, like an ocean trying to sink him into desperation. That was what he got for making a good deed.

He never forgot about the bird either, so in a way; it was worth it.

That was the thing that stuck to him as he grew up, that nothing was without pain but that what was given in return was worth it, that he couldn’t get things without giving things, and that more often than not; what he got in exchange was always better than what he gave away.

He was extremely curios about his string, wondering how the person at the other side of his would be like.

 His parents weren’t threaded; he knew they both had lost them when they were very young and found comfort in each other’s arm, finally getting married and having three incredible children. He knew that love was something to be amazed about, and could be always be found, even when it seemed that everything was over, that it could heal every kind of wounds and that there many ways of it.

When his older sister found her threaded and they became best friends instead of lovers he found more proofs of this. It wasn’t that weird for threaded to never move to the next level, but some people thought it was difficult to maintain a healthy relationship with someone else when your threaded was right there next to you all along the way.

His sister’s threaded wasn’t a problem for her boyfriend, and neither was her for his. They became a weird family of sorts, but they worked and Greg loved them all to pieces, and they loved him in return.

His other sister was a whole other story.

She was the clumsiest person he knew, always tripping and letting things slip through her fingers, making more messes than himself but without the intention, so it was no surprise to anybody to find out that she had literally ran into her threaded.

What they weren’t expecting was for her threaded to fall down and take her with him, landing in the middle of the street and stopping traffic. They both turned into blabbering messes, trying to apologize for their own clumsiness and fidgeting with their hands and turning beet red. Only after a couple of awkward minutes of apologies and cars honking at them to get out of the way, was that they realized that their strings ended at each other’s wrists.

They had stopped talking and looked at each other’s eyes and then kissed until they couldn’t breathe.

Next thing he knew; his sister was getting married.

He was still waiting to wake up one day and just find his other end, just like his sisters, and find out what kind of relationship they would have.

Would they be best friends?

 Or just helplessly in love?

Would they be a girl or a boy?

He could only dream of it, and keep on living; so he did.

He became a policeman so he could help people and do what was right; it was a job that fitted him perfectly. People loved him and soon enough he started escalating ranks, kept doing so until he became detective inspector and made the mistake to fall in love.

He fell in love with a girl that wasn’t his threaded, just because she smiled at him and treated him kindly and gave him the love he was so thirsty for. It was something fast and wild that broke him when it came to an end, because as soon as she got tired of him; she jumped to the next pretty boy she found and kept on moving.

Greg couldn’t hate her; she had told him that she wasn’t made for lost lasting relationships, her own threaded being nothing but a friend. He had ignored the warning and gotten his heart broken; it was no one’s fault but his.

He decided, after that, that he was being naïve, and that maybe what he would find at the end of his string would be black and smoke, that maybe it would be severed; he couldn’t know for sure until he found it, and it was taking its sweet time to come.

His hopes got thinner and the title of dreamer was starting to hang over his shoulders, too busy with work and cases to be worried about following the stupid string hanging from his wrist.

He started smoking to take out the stress.

Started drinking to forget he was alone.

But at night he would curl around a pillow and promise himself that he wouldn’t give up; he couldn’t, he knew that whatever he found at the end wasn’t all there was. He knew that if it was severed; he could still find love, just like his parents, he knew there was still hope and he held to it with all he had.

But the dreams…

Those he threw away, he no longer dreamed of a perfect fairy tale romance, or about magical meetings, he threw those dreams as far as he could and forgot about them, expecting to never have them again.

So, of course, then he met Mycroft Holmes and the dreams came back to punch him in the gut.

Hard.


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, let's clear a couple of things. You'll find the words soul mate a couple of times, but I'm lazy so it'll probably be just "soulmate" just like that, don't judge me! Second, Mycroft's age is based just like always, seven years older that Sherlock, but I want Sherlock still in his 30s so Myc will be in his 40s. Also, Greg is older than Myc because I kind of based that on their actor's ages, and Rupert is a bit older than Mark, so there you have it. Enjoy!

They all say that meeting your soulmate can go three ways.

You can feel like an electric pulse is running through your veins and making your body buzz, feeling it tingling in your fingertips and everything stops. They say your heart skips a beat and you just know you love this person with all you have and will do forever, never mind that you don’t know a thing about them, not even their name; you’ve got the rest of your life to get to know them.

Maybe you’ll just feel like you already know them, like they’re all you’re not, like this person has been with you all along and you can even begin to understand how two seconds become a lifetime. They say you feel butterflies in the stomach and your head gets a little fuzzy, your chest bursting with happiness at the idea of finally being complete and having someone there for you, never mind if you get romantic or stay completely platonic, there’s someone who won’t ever give up on you and that’s what matters right then.

There are also people who say they felt nothing. Nothing at all, like it was just them meeting another random stranger on the streets, and for some reason this kind of threaded usually ended up married and so in tune that their heartbeats synchronized  and could almost blend into one being, or they hated each other enough to drive one of them to severe their strings or even murder.

No one ever said anything about panic or mind-consuming fear that spread through every single part of your body leaving you frozen in place, staring at the face of what could be your future and unable to breathe, like you’re waiting for a bomb to drop and explode and drag you to hell. No one ever said anything about the cold in your veins trying to make your head explode or the fire in your body that dangerously made you feel like passing out.

No one said anything about the desire to run away and never look back.

But that was what Mycroft felt and it scared him shitless.

He used to be a MI6 agent, he ran the fucking country, he was the Ice King in the shadows of the system, he stopped wars before his morning tea and had to deal with the nightmare that was Sherlock Holmes, he was probably the most important man on England; nothing ever scared him.

But this…

This had him shaking.

And for what he could see, the man in front of him was experiencing something similar; he could see the panic in his eyes, the way his hands were made into fists to stop them from shaking, the way he swallowed hard, trying to get his dry mouth to cooperate. Giving him a second look, Mycroft had to admit that the man was quite a catch, with a handsome face and a good job at NSY, his hair a nice salt and pepper mix and dark eyes, yes, he could see the attractive there, but his mind was still trying to get him to run away.

“Hi…” Finally, the other man broke the awkward silence, clearing his throat offering his string hand” Gregory Lestrade.

“Mycroft Holmes” He said, trying to keep his voice calm and taking the other man’s hand, feeling a sharp pain as he shook it and having more luck at hiding the grimace than his threaded “Would you like to have a coffee? I think we should have this conversation in a place more… private.”

“What? Oh, yeah, sure” Gregory looked around, finally noticing the looks people were giving them, after all they were in middle of a crime scene, and yet they were looking more scared of each other than of the mutilated body two feet away from them “Sure, we can get a nice coffee just around the corner. Sally, take charge.”

*

Greg couldn’t believe his luck, he really couldn’t. The idea of finding his threaded was something that gave him hope every night, it made his chest warm just to think of finally meeting the person at other side of his string and could only dream of a happy ending to it all.

But now…

Now he was scared, and confused, and totally trying to ignore how attractive Mycroft Holmes was, with his three piece suit and black umbrella, ginger hair and blue/grayish eyes that he wanted to appreciate and get a better look of, but he couldn’t, just the thought of getting closer to the man made his heart beat like a drum and his desire to take off running just grew stronger.

He couldn’t understand the feelings that were running through him, it was painful and the fear was almost paralyzing, he could barely get his body to join his cause and move somewhat coordinated, he felt like tripping and avoiding picking things because he felt he would drop them, his hands were shaking and cold seat was running down his spine, the sharp pain in his chest when he had taken Mycroft’s hand was still pulsing weakly.

“So… Mycroft?” Greg tried again, finding that talking was still a bit hard “What can you tell me about you? I mean… we should get to know each other… nothing much, simple things… like, how old are you, or what you do for a living. Do you have any siblings?”

“I’m 45, don’t let anybody feed you lies, and if I told you what I do for a living then I’d have to kill you, so let’s say I work for the government” The man said, his voice so calm and in control that made Gregory think the man was neither calm nor in control “And yes, I do have siblings; a younger brother.”

“Oh, that’s nice” Gregory didn’t have any brothers, and he was the youngest, so it was kind of curios to know this little fact about his threaded “I have sisters, two of them, both older than me. You know what I do for a living, and I’m actually 47.”

“Are you? Well, that’s interesting; you certainly don’t look any older than I am” Remarked Mycroft with a raised eyebrow “What about the rest of your family? Your favorite color, food…?”

From there, the conversation went quite well, the nerves and fear going away as they grew more comfortable with each other, talking about mindless things, like how Gregory’s parents were happily married but not threaded and how his sisters used to torture him and treat him as another girl, about how his favorite color was black (yes, sue him) and his favorite food was homemade pizza, especially his mother’s. They talked about his off-the-records obsession with leather jackets and old bikes, and how he loved riding his around the city like a little rebel teenager when he was in his late forties, finally managing to get a tiny smile out of Mycroft.

The man for his part talked about his brother; Sherlock, and how bright he was, he talked about his mother and how she lived alone in their old house, keeping a magnificent garden that kept her busy, he talked about how his favorite color was purple (because for some reason it made him calm) and his unexpected sweet tooth that made vanilla cake his favorite food, but only really good quality one, the kind that takes a lot of time to make and cost more than any cake Greg had ever had.  He also noticed how he left his father out of topic, and kept talking nonsense and warning Greg about his little brother, who seemed to have a really twisted perception of him, but he let it go, thinking that maybe it was something for later, when they were more comfortable with each other.

“So… what are we going to do about this?” Mycroft asked after their third cup of coffee (he also learned that the man liked his black with two sugars, just like himself) and looked at Greg with some of the forgotten unease on his eyes.

“I don’t know” He answered, being 100% honest. He didn’t know what to do, what he wanted to do? Go and risk it and ask for undying love, or take it slow and start with friendship? He was a cautious man, so he knew when to take risks and when not to “Maybe we should try being friends?”

“Friends?” If the man was disappointed about the idea, he didn’t show, only nodded like thinking it was for the best and took out his wallet, paying for the coffees and giving Greg a card that had nothing but a phone number “Mine, if you want to meet, or just talk.”

“Oh, right, thanks” He knew he was blushing, but he didn’t know why, searching his pockets for one of his own cards(the kind that had his name and his occupation on it) and handling it to Mycroft “The same, you know, if your need anything, if you want to go out for dinner, if you get in any trouble and need help or just if you need to talk about anything… just call me.”

“Thank you” Mycroft said, smiling politely but not genuinely “I guess we should get going; you’re in middle of a case, after all.”

“Yeah, we should.”

And so they did, awkwardly saying goodbye with a handshake and finding that there was no pain, not anymore. There was no fear, there was no desire of running away, they had made peace and would probably see each other again soon, and they were threaded after all. They didn’t have to be afraid of the weird feelings that had gotten into them when they first saw each other, they forgot about it, brushed aside, because right now they were calm.

But then, of course, they went each on their way, separately, alone, and the feelings of anguish and fear came back to punch them in the gut.

And the desire of running away became a wild desperation to run back to each other.


	4. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little warning here, because I really don't know if this counts as triggering, just a little bit of Panic attacks in this chapter. I have an anxiety disorder myself, so I tried to write it as I know it, but I also know that it can be different for everyone, so there. Just read with caution.

Mycroft had his doubts about the detective inspector and his intentions, he never truly cared about anyone but his family and they’d hurt him in ways he couldn’t even admit to himself, he couldn’t blame them or hate them for it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less when he thought about it. He didn’t know if the man meant it when he said they could try just being friends, he didn’t know if the man liked him or if he was freaked out or disgusted by the fact of having him as his threaded. He didn’t know a thing and it scared him, because it was the first time in a long time that things were out of his control.

He wasn’t in control of anything.

He needed to throw up.

He rushed to the bathroom and clashed on his knees in front of the toilet, breathing deeply to keep the nausea at bay, he needed the room to stop spinning and his mind to stop reeling. He hadn’t had a panic attack in years, he couldn’t start this again, it was hard enough the first time around and he still didn’t know how he’d managed to stop them; he couldn’t do it a second time.

If he sank this time, he was going to stay at the bottom of his darkness and drown.

*

“You look happy, boss. What’s up?” Sally asked as soon as she came in with coffee for the two of them “Got laid? The man from yesterday looked a little bit uptight”

“Sally, we’ve talked about gossip in the office and privacy” He answered, taking a sip from his cup and letting out a little sigh “But I know you won’t let it go, so I’ll tell you if you promise not to make a big deal out of this”

“Pinky promise” She joked, lifting her little finger and smiling cheekily at him.

“No, I didn’t get laid. But we had a nice chat, he’s really nice” He smiled into his cup, feeling very much like a thirteen year old teenage girl with a crush “And we decided to take it slow and be friends first, to know each other before anything”

“That sounds boring, boss” Sally rolled her eyes and relaxed back into her chair “You should at least call him to say good morning or something, win him over”

“That’s… not a bad idea” Greg smiled and then motioned her to the door “I’m going to need some privacy, fly away”

“Privacy? Well, shit” She smiled giving him a wink and leaving the room, he heard her say as she left “I think I just got my boss to give his threaded a sexy call”

“That little… minx” He muttered, trying to fight the smile out of his face and taking out his phone, dialing Mycroft number from memory (because it was an easy number, not because he spent the night looking at the card and smiling to himself, because he totally didn’t) and letting it ring.

*

“Hello?” Mycroft didn’t want to answer, but very few had his private number and it could mean Sherlock was in any kind of trouble. His voice was still a bit shaky and his other hand was still clutching the toilet so hard that his knuckles were white “Mycroft Holmes”

“Hi, Mycroft, it’s me; Greg” Said the smooth voice of the detective, soothing some of Mycroft’s anxiety “I was calling to say good morning, see how you were”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking, it was very considerate from you to call to check on my well being, and I appreciate it” He answered, letting his back rest against the tub and curling on himself “What about you? How you fare this morning?”

“I woke up on time and well rested, that’s the best I’ve done in a while” He could hear Gregory’s smile through the line and a little shiver ran down his spine at the mental image of the man’s face at the moment “The loveliest morning I had in a while, and I think I owed it to you. I had a really good time last night and I’d love to see you again, to have lunch or something. But don’t feel like you have to, I know we agreed to take it slow, I just… friends have lunch together sometimes, right? We could… I’m sorry, I’m rambling, I must be annoying you or…”

“No, it’s okay” He interrupted, a little smiling curling his lips upwards, panic attack completely forgotten “I’d like that, sharing a meal with you, talking… I like to hear your voice; it’s not annoying at all”

“Wow, thanks, I guess” Gregory said, a bit shocked “No one ever said that about my voice, nice to know that my ramblings won’t scare you away”

“I think you’d find really hard to scare me away” Mycroft smiled a bit bitterly, thinking about how easily he could scare Gregory away “What about today? Two o’clock?”

“Perfect, I call dibs on choosing the place” Gregory laughed and Mycroft’s heart decided to become an acrobat “I’ll text you the address, have a nice day, Mike”

“You too, Gregory” He said, hanging up and holding the phone close to his chest, feeling confused about the feelings twirling in his stomach and deciding to get ready for work before a war exploded somewhere.

*

They didn’t have lunch that day.

Mycroft’s work got in the line and someone decided to get murdered on a public bathroom.

But they did have dinner at a little restaurant that Lestrade choose, very quiet and calm. They ate, talked and laughed at Greg’s bad sense of humor. It was hard for both of them to realize how at ease they felt around each other and how some kind of emptiness would take place in their chests when they were apart.

 It was hard for Greg to feel so in love with someone he still didn’t know loved him back.

It was hard for Mycroft to feel so in love with someone who shouldn’t love him back.

They started seeing each other more often, occasionally having dinner or simply a coffee break together, it was weird but lovely, and they started to know each other better.

 Mycroft knew about Greg’s love for good coffee and his resignation at the one he got from the office because it was the only thing available, he also knew about his fear of spiders and how bad he felt every time a case involved children. He knew how his shoulders tensed when he was having a bad day, and how he scratched behind his ear when he had a headache and refused to admit it to himself. He knew about his strange friendship with Sally Donovan and the respect they had for each other, never mind the banter and the occasional hostility. He knew he loved his sisters but always wanted a brother, and how he loved his parents and tried his very best to visit them at least once every two months. He knew he loved Gregory Lestrade and that the man loved him back.

Gregory knew a lot about Mycroft as well, a bit harder to figure out but with time a patience everything was possible.

 He knew about Mycroft sweet tooth and how he refused to allow himself the pleasure of cakes and sweets as often as he’d liked because he worried about his weight. He knew said worry came from the time when Mycroft left the legwork and took a desk and gained a couple of pounds that made his brother mock him restlessly until he forced himself to lose them. He knew about his fear of closed spaces and how much he hated being out of control, how he counted the cutlery when he washed and cleaned, and then counted them again just to be sure the number was always right. He knew about the panic attacks, even if he had never witnessed one, Mycroft told him himself when he called in middle of the night trying to catch his breath, and he also knew his voice could take the panic away and calm the other man enough to go back to sleep. He knew he loved his brother more than he loved himself, even if he seemed to hate Mycroft’s guts, and he knew he loved his mother just as much, and tried his very best to call her at least once a week to see how she was doing. He knew he loved Mycroft Holmes and that the man loved him back.

It was only logical that next date they kissed.

It was slow, and surprisingly chaste, tasting each other’s lips carefully, investigating the texture of the other’s tongue and caressing each other’s hair. After pulling apart, they rested their foreheads together and smiled to themselves, eyes closed and holding each other close. Mycroft moved a little bit, making himself fit better in Greg’s arms and burying his face in the other man’s shoulder.

“I love you” Greg couldn’t help but say, regretting the words as soon as they let his lips and he felt Mycroft whole body go tense against his, his breath picking up “Mike?”

“Don’t call me that, don’t say that… don’t say things like that… don’t…” Mycroft was shaking now, trying to pull apart from Lestrade’s embrace and run away, pretend he didn’t hear him, pretend this didn’t happen “You can’t… don’t call me Mike, don’t… don’t say you love me”

“Mycroft, I’m sorry, I won’t say it again” Greg said, holding Mycroft closer instead of letting him go, rubbing his back with one hand and caressing his hair with the other “It’s okay, I won’t say it again, I won’t call you that name. It’s fine, really, just breathe, please”

“I’m sorry” Mycroft said, giving up on his struggle to get free and letting his body fall limp against the detective’s “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, it’s fine” Greg was saying the truth, he should have known better than to push Mycroft Holmes, he was a man with walls around his heart to keep himself safe, because he was fragile and had no other way to protect himself “It’s really okay, we’re okay. Just breathe”

“I’m breathing, you’re helping me breathe, you keep me breathing” He mumbled against the man’s shoulder and closed his eyes to hold the tears back “I just want to go home”

“I’ll take you home” Greg pulled apart but kept their hands linked, lifting them for a second to kiss Mycroft’s and then started walking towards the card that always waited for them at a prudent distance, thinking about what to do next.


	5. The Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be traveling a lot this week so I'm trying to keep this posted as much as I can because I feel like finishing it soon, I've got another couples of stories coming up and some other's I'm working on other sites so I need to divide my time wisely. Enjoy while you can, Love!

Greg’s plan was easy; take Mycroft home, tuck him in bed and leave as quietly as he could manage so he could get to his apartment and drink till he couldn’t remember his own name. This plan, of course, had flaws. Like the way Mycroft was practically clinging to him and refused to let go of his hand even if he was still shaking, or the way once you got into Mycroft’s house you had two doors heavily locked and a couple of security guards standing around, or the way his own heat broke when Mycroft dragged him to the couch and looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Stay, please” His voice just a shaky as he is, clutching Greg’s hand as hard as he could, like he feared he would disappear if he let go “Please, don’t leave me”

“I’m not going to” Greg answered, leaning forward to plant a kiss in the other’s man forehead, hating how small he looked “I’ll stay”

“I’m sorry about all this, I really am, I just…” Mycroft swallows hard; like the next words are hurting him “You don’t deserve me”

The words hit Greg like a bullet to the chest, leaving him without breath and trying to put the pieces of his brain together, he never knew Mycroft felt that way about him, yes; he wasn’t that big of a deal next to the man who ran the country (and maybe several others) and stopped wars before breakfast, but he never felt less of a man before. He couldn’t understand what was happening or why would Mycroft ever say such a thing, but it hurt, like his heart was being ripped from his chest and the world around him was starting to burn.

“I don’t know what things you must have done in your past life to be threaded to someone like me, but you don’t deserve it” Mycroft kept going, each word stabbing Lestrade’s back “I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of things that you have to do to be punished this way. You’re such a great man, Gregory, you deserve someone who can make you happy and keep you whole and give you things I can’t even dream of giving you…”

Greg’s mind had gone into shock. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he could swear Mycroft Holmes just said he thought himself to be a punishment, he thought himself to be unworthy of Greg’s love. The man whose name only made Greg smile every morning thought he couldn’t make him happy, the man whose kiss had left him blind and spinning and with a bursting heart full of love and happiness thought he couldn’t give Greg a life.

He could only stare wide-eyed in terror as Mycroft kept talking awful things about himself, trying to understand what was happening and how to stop it.

“… You deserve someone who is just as perfect as you are, and that can share their live with you the way you do it, someone who can love you without fear and throw themselves at you, marry you, give you their hearts and hold yours in return like it was the biggest treasure ever known to man. You deserve someone better than me, I’m a broken man from a broken home, with nothing to give you but this, because this is all I am and this is all I have. I’m nothing compared to a man like you, I’m nothing and you deserve everything…”

“Stop it right there!” Gregory finally reacted, his hands flying to Mycroft’s face to make him look at him “I deserve everything, there you’re right, but you’re so wrong about everything else, you, my dear, are everything and I deserve you because I’m a good man and good men deserve good things.”

“You don’t understand; I’m not good” Mycroft said, his eyes full of sadness “I’ve killed, and I’ve hurt people just for fun, I’m a monster who used to have no heart, I hated love and more than once I thought of cutting the string that ties me to you because I thought you wouldn’t be worthy of my time, when in the end; I’m not worthy of yours. I’m selfish and broken and full of bad things that bleed through the cracks and stain everything around me. They used to call me the Iceman, but they should’ve called me fire, because I burn everything I touch; I’m nothing but destruction”

“You are not, you’re not a monster, and you’re not fire” Greg smiled softly, still forcing Mycroft to look at him “You say you wanted to cut the string, but you didn’t. You say you’re selfish, but I’ve never met someone so selfless, who can give themselves the way you do. You say you’re broken and full of bad things, but all I see is crystal, a bit cracked here and there, but still just as beautiful and full of feelings that range like a storm in a way I’ve never seen, for someone who claims to have no feelings, you, Mycroft Holmes, feel so deeply that it scares the crap out of you. And I understand, but you are not destruction. You are like fire, but you don’t burn, you’re light and you brighten my life, and you keep me warm, and when I say I love you; I mean it with every piece of my heart”

By this point they’re both crying and clinging to each other like their lives depend on it, Greg’s heart is still breaking a little bit because he truly loves Mycroft and he can’t stand to see him hurt, to know how the man thinks so little of himself when he’s such a great person; the best. Mycroft is openly sobbing and his breath is still feeling a bit short, but he’s happy like he’s never been and the tiniest amount of hope is starting to burn in his chest. They stay in silence, because all the words that needed to be said have been said, and they just need to sink, looking at each other’s eyes like the secrets of the universe are written there, like there’s nothing as precious on the world. And they kiss, this time a bit desperate, with Greg trying to not push Mycroft but wishing he could do that forever, and Mycroft scared of what is to come but waiting for it with a newly open heart.

“I love you” This time the words leave Mycroft’s lips like they were meant to be and a silly smile curls his lips upward, his eyes shiny with a new kind of tears “I love you, I love you, I love you so much”

“I love you too” Greg laughs, taking in the words and breathing like it’s the first time real air hits his lungs “I love you so much, and I’m happy to know you love me too”

“I love you” Mycroft repeats, like he can’t stop saying it, and maybe he really can’t, he has 32 years full of unsaid ‘I love you’ s to make up for, not only to Greg but to his mother and his brother too “Never let me go”

“Never” Greg agrees and kisses him again, this time a little bit more passionate, hotter, and Mycroft moans into the kiss, his lips braking apart and going slowly down Greg’s neck, their hands get a little busy and Mycroft’s three piece suit has never been such an inconvenience.

*

Is a week later and they’re meeting or dinner, people has noticed the change in their behavior but most just smile at them and tell them they’re glad for them or just pat them in the back and congratulate them on their bond (or the sex, yes, thank you, Sally). Things are going easier than they though, Mycroft still gets scared this is just a dream and that he’s going to wake up and find that Greg left him one day, and Greg still fears Mycroft is going to panic and run away, leaving him behind with nothing but a broken heart and memories good enough to ruin any other person for him to recover. But they make it work, and that week becomes the best time of their lives.

That is, until they get home from their dinner date and Mycroft gets a call from St Bart’s.

To tell him his brother overdosed.


	6. The Holmeses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get the fright of your life, I must remind you that this is an AU, and hence they're not the same as in canon. If you've read Strings then you know that my Sherlock is an idiot with a huge heart that just likes to hide it and deny that he has it, so don't be surprised if he's nicer than you can ever imagine him being in canon. And Mycroft... well, he's an idiot who owns a heart that is way too heavy for him to carry, even more so because he refused to admit that he had it and lied to himself for years, so having the truth slap him in the face makes him way softer than in canon, but we all know that he loves Sherlock and the other way around, even if they never actually show it.

Mycroft liked to think he was used to the feeling of flying he experienced every time Gregory took him for a ride. The way his face was kissed by the wind and how free he felt, holding for dear life at first but getting more comfortable with the bike as time passed on,  he slowly learned to trust the man driving and enjoy himself, looking at London with new eyes, lights making him giddy the faster they went. He loved it.

But now; he hated it.

He hated the way the wind was slapping him in the face and making his eyes burn, he hated how trapped he felt, with nowhere to go, he hated how his hands trembled as he clutched to Gregory’s waist and tried to bury himself in the warm of his borrowed leather jacket, he hated how the lights around him made his head hurt and unsettled his stomach, the fear clinging to his bones making him hate the cold weather of the city and wishing he could run away but too deep to escape from it all.

The bike was supposed to be faster.

It was taking way too long and Mycroft’s mind was collapsing on itself, thinking too much one second and thinking nothing at all the next.

They had barely reached the Hospital when Mycroft hopped down and ran into it, asking in the front desk for his brother and what room he was in, throwing himself into the lift. He couldn’t keep his mind from racing, from thinking about his brother’s dead body and how the last words they exchanged had been cold and devoid of feelings. Maybe Sherlock was actually dead and the last thing Mycroft had said to him was to stop loving, because love was not advantage.

But it was.

It was the only thing keeping Mycroft from sinking into darkness, love was an advantage, and for someone who claimed not to care; he cared too much, and for too many. He cared about his mother, and he cared about his brother, he cared about his assistant, and he cared about Greg.

He was stupid, so stupid.

He had filled Sherlock’s head with ideas he didn’t believe himself. He knew his brother’s heart was frail and he wanted him to shield himself, he never wanted Sherlock to rip his heart out, he never wanted his brother to sink so low that he thought he was not loved and that the only important thing in his life was his mind. Same mind that raced as fast (if not faster) as Mycroft’s and solved problems with cold logic and facts, same mind that got bored so easily and had to seek for troubles to keep busy constantly, same mind that seemed to find time to breathe when under the effects of drugs Sherlock shouldn’t have, drugs that were killing him.

He ignored the nurse that tried to stop him from entering his brother’s room.

“Oh, Sherlock” He sighed as his body sank in the chair next to his brother’s bed, one of his hands going straight to take his brother’s and the other caressing his curls “I’m so sorry, so very sorry”

His brother looked so small in the hospital bed, and the white of the sheets did nothing but emphasize the paleness of his skin, dark circles under his eyes and bruised skin in the inside of his elbow were who knows how many needles were stabbed into, letting poison into his bloodstream.  Mycroft’s eyes roamed his brother for further damage and almost felt his own heart stop when he noticed the string tied around his brother’s wrist.

It was black; burned.

He let go of Sherlock’s hand like it had burned him, hugging himself and trying to understand the roaring in his mind, he couldn’t think straight, all he could do was feel Sherlock’s pain and it burned so fiercely that Mycroft had to cling to his own string to reassure himself that he still had Greg, that the loss wasn’t his.

“Mike? Are you okay?” Gregory had finally entered the room, looking at his threaded with worry and giving Sherlock a quick glance just to confirm he was still alive. He walked closer, slowly so he didn’t scare Mycroft away and  took him in his arms, letting the younger man break down and cry into his shoulder “He’s going to be okay, don’t cry, the doctor said it was a close call, but he’s going to be just fine”

“He’s not” Mycroft sobbed, holding Greg tight “Oh, Gregory; he’s never going to be okay. Look at his wrist! His threaded is dead, and the only person he has left is me. How could he be okay? I’m such a failure, this is my entire fault”

“How is this your fault, darling? You didn’t know, there was nothing you could do” To this, Mycroft only cried harder “Darling?”

“I knew, it’s my fault, I knew Sherlock wasn’t okay, he didn’t pester me anymore and I didn’t went to visit, I left him alone” Mycroft said, still not letting the DI go “I should have known that all the poison I poured in his head was going to kill him sooner or later, and here we are, because I was too stupid, too selfish and tried to protect him. I was wrong, all this time I tried to shield him from the world and then I left him alone to face it”

“Mike, darling, look at me” Greg’s expression was soft and his eyes were a bit glazed, it hurt him to hear Mycroft go back to talking that way about himself when he’d been doing so well “You didn’t kill him, he’s alive and breathing and yeah, maybe a bit bruised here and there but he’s going to be fine, I know you and if you ever made a mistake about him; you’re going to fix it, you’re going to take care of him and I’m going to help you, you’re not alone anymore”

“I’m sorry, I’m just… I thought he was going to die, and then I just can’t stop thinking about how he felt when he found his string burnt, I just don’t know if he’s going to want me here when he wakes or if he’s going to hate me and yell at me and kick me out” Mycroft said, a bit calmer, his breathing in check and his body more in his control, since the ‘accident’ he wasn’t as sharp when it came to the way he reacted to things “I wouldn’t blame him thought, if he hated me, I’ve never been a good brother, I’ve never been there for him, not really, I always fed him the same lies I forced myself to believe, I broke him, and then things like this happen, I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted o see me again”

“You’re such an idiot” Sherlock’s hoarse voice interrupted, making Mycroft and Greg jump a little bit, unaware of the other’s consciousness “I always told mummy you were defective and that you needed to be checked, but I never thought I would be right, you’re an idiot, Mycroft”

“Oh, Sherlock, don’t say things like that. Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need me to call a doctor?” Mycroft threw himself at his brother’s bedside and looked at him with big worried eyes, anxiety running through his mind.

“No, stop the questions. I’m fine, as if a simple overdose could kill me. Like I said, you’re stupid, must be the thread, I bet that man has better common sense than you right now” Sherlock scowled at Lestrade and then rolled his eyes at his brother’s expression “How can you think I could ever hate you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like you most of the time, you’re annoying and dull, but I never truly hated you, nor could I hate you in the future”

“Sherlock, this is not about me, you almost died and your string…” Mycroft took his brother hand in his, a bit surprised to be allowed to, and kissed it “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything I ever said, I’m sorry for telling you that caring was not an advantage because it is, and I care about you, Sherlock, you don’t know how scared I was when I got the call telling me you were here, I was terrified that it was too late and that I was coming here just to pick your corpse, I couldn’t stop thinking on how much I ever hurt you and how my mistakes brought you here and…”

“Mycroft, do me a favor and please shut the fuck up” Sherlock said, looking at Lestrade like saying ‘now you see, this is how it’s done’ “Your never hurt me, you were always an overprotective mother hen that was always in the way of my doings, couldn’t leave me breathe in peace for two seconds without trying to see if I was in risk of hurting myself. You were an idiot and thanks to you is that I’m still here, thanks to you is that I never gave up on my string and finding someone to care for, it was you who showed me that love maybe wasn’t an advantage but it was a need, and it was you who kept mummy and I alive till this day. So don’t you dare to come here and cry on me and blame yourself for my mistakes, because they’re mine and yes; I was stupid too, and yes; my threaded is dead, but then again so is mum’s and she is still happy, and so is a lot of people we know, it’s not the end of the world”

“I’m sorry” Mycroft said, crying again and laughing a bit when Sherlock took his hand away and looked at it in disgust before brushing it against the sheet and giving it back to Mycroft “I was scared of losing you, and then I was afraid that I had lost you long before this, and I didn’t know what I was going to do, I still don’t have any idea, I got used to closing myself but I know I have to change, I want to change”

“Whatever, just don’t go around hugging me and stuff because if you do I’m going to stab you and throw your body in the Thames” Sherlock shrugged, still giving Lestrade weird looks “Now, why don’t you introduce me to your threaded so I can go back to sleep”

“Sorry. Gregory, this is my little brother, Sherlock. Sherlock, this is my threaded, Gregory Lestrade” Mycroft said and hurried to keep Sherlock’s mouth shut “He works for The Yard, so I bet you’ll get along just fine”

“Nice to meet you” Greg said, still a bit worried about the brother’s and a bit surprised at the way Sherlock handled Mycroft’s panic like it was nothing after the shock of finding out that his own threaded was dead “If you ever need anything, you can talk to me”

“Go to sleep, Sherlock, we can talk about rehab and therapists when you wake up and stop pretending everything is good for my sake” Mycroft said, brushing his brother’s curls away from his face and kissing his forehead, laughing at the way Sherlock’s noise scrunched in disgust “You’ll be okay, I’m going to make sure of it. We’re going to be just fine”


	7. The Vows

Sherlock’s rehab was slow and painful for both brothers, years of distance and toxic feelings were a knot hard to untie and the pain of the loss and drug abstinence made Sherlock unstable for a while; lashing out sometimes and being clingy some others.

Somehow, in some way; they got there.

Sherlock started working with Lestrade at the Yard and became an important asset for them; he also learned to protect himself, even if he built a brand new shield to do so. This one wasn’t as strong as the one he had made for his mind when in college and neither was as cold and spiked as the one his brother used to wear around his heart. This new shield was just against names and stupid people’s opinions, leaving some space for happiness, love and good intentions to get in, even if scarce.

Mycroft felt awful for a while, holding his brother’s hand when he was asleep at the hospital and visiting every day he was in the rehab center. He never knew that getting a therapist for his brother would end with his assistant teaming up with his threaded to get one for him too.

Even if Sherlock’s heart was broken; Mycroft’s mind was worse.

Time came and went and much changed for the Homes brothers. Rehab and therapy had done wonders to them and they faced the world with new spirits, having being to hell and back and surviving the trip. They’d been forged in fire and blood and heartbreak; there was nothing that could stop them now.

Except that Sherlock’s string was still burnt and Mycroft’s anxieties were becoming obsessions.

Mycroft looked at Lestrade while the other slept and he thought of it all, how hard it had been on their relationship and how his heart had betrayed him in the dirtiest of ways and now belonged to the man who was snoring into his pillow. He did the same every time he had a nightmare; looking at Greg helped calm him down, just knowing there was someone who loved him and wouldn’t leave him no matter how fucked up he was or how dangerous it was to be in his company.

“You Holmeses, such creeps… watching as I sleep” Smiled Greg, still half asleep “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long” Mycroft said honestly, which was so weird to him still; being able to talk without secrets to hide “Just looking at you drooling on your pillow, how could I sleep when you’re snoring that loud?”

“I do not snore, mister! Neither do I drool!” Greg said, faking to be offended and threw his arm around Mycroft’s waist, pulling him close and kissing his nose “Now, if you’d stop making up lies about me, I’d like to go back to sleep”

“The only one liar in this room is you, and you’re only lying to yourself, darling” Mycroft answered but borrowed his face in Lestrade’s chest, breathing in the smell of his favorite soap and it felt strangely like home “I love you”

“I love you too” Greg’s long fingers ran across Mycroft’s hair, pulling it back softly and he felt another kiss being placed in the crown of his head “Let’s sleep now, you need it and so do I”

“Good night” Mycroft mumbled, his voice sleepy as the tiredness of days caught up with him and the warm of his lover’s embrace lulled him to sleep.

“Good night, Mike, good night…”

*****

The butterflies in his stomach were most likely trying to escape as he felt like he was about to throw up. His black suit was perfect, his ginger hair was combed and he looked absolutely stunning, every single thing in its place and he wondered what was making him feel so dizzy, it was supposed to be the most perfect day of his life and he was almost in hysterics at the moment. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn’t believe it; he was getting married to the most perfect man on earth, with his family by his side and he felt so happy that for a moment he thought he was dreaming.

But no, this was very much real and was happening very much now.

“Oh darling, you look so handsome!” His mother cried, entering the room and looking at him with so much pride that her eyes watered “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know, happy is the only word that comes to my mind” He answered, looking at her and smiling softly “I just can’t believe this is really happening”

“I’m so proud of you for making it this far, darling. Don’t get me wrong, because I knew there was someone out there in the world that would see you as you were and love you more than anyone else; you had a thread around your wrist, there was another end. I never doubted there was someone who could love you, I was just worried that you wouldn’t let yourself love them back” She reached out and took his hands into hers, pressing a soft kiss to them “I guess I had something to do with the way you handled yourself and your emotions for so long, I know losing your father was hard for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother you needed then. It hurts me to this day, to know that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me so much”

“Don’t. Mother, you don’t have to apologize for that; you lost your threaded, you had all the right to mourn him and I understand. I promise you, I never blamed you” He smiled at her, even if it broke a bit of both their hearts, because they both knew it was a lie.

“I’m still sorry, but I’m really proud of you, always was. The man you became is the kind of man your father respected the most; you took care of your brother for both of us and took care of me when I should have taken care of you two. You are such a strong man, my love, that I’m so happy to see that you found someone as strong as you to help you and love you and make you smile just like you used to when you were but a child” She hugged him once more and kissed his forehead with a smile “It’s almost time to begin, I hope you’re ready”

“I’m ready, mother; I’ve been ready for months” He said, ignoring the way his stomach knotted and his chest got heavy. He was about to get married; he had all the right to panic a little bit.

****

Greg was fairly sure he was going to pass out, he needed to breathe but he couldn’t; the lights, the people… it was all making him dizzy. Mycroft had fought him about being the “bride” and they both had agreed to walk down the aisle with their parents at their side. They also agreed that Greg was going to do it first, since his parents were both alive and his father would be the first one to cry and make a mess of himself in front of all the guesses.

His parents left him at the altar, kissed him in the cheek and went to take their places, tears of pride already forming in their eyes. He loved his parents, but they were going to make him cry before the wedding even started, his sisters too; they looked at him as if he was a new man, and his heart warmed up when he remembered how happy they all were about the fact that he had found someone to love and love him in return.

The music changed and his breath hitched; Mycroft looked absolutely beautiful, there was a warm blush in his face that softened his straight posture and thin pressed lips. His mother held herself with such pose and grace that she made up for the empty space where Mycroft’s father should be. She left him at the altar and he kissed her hand before she took her place in the front row, next to Sherlock and his fake expression of boredom.

“Hi” He said, breathlessly, taking Mycroft’s hand and giving him a loopy smile.

“Hello” Mycroft answered, his face splitting in a blinding smile as his eyes watered a little bit, he was looking at Greg as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

To be honest; Greg couldn’t believe it himself.

The ceremony was blurry and full of tears and people trying to act as if they weren’t crying, specially Mycroft’s family and friends; specially Sherlock. But if there was something Greg knew he was going to remember for the rest of his life; it was when they said their vows to each other. He went first and took a deep breath to prepare himself, just to take another and a couple more before finding it in him to speak out and tell the man in front of him all the things he had already said, but in front of a crowd too.

_“Mycroft; you are a man who a lot of people think of as cold and heartless, but I’m living proof of the contraire and I’ve seen it. Your heart is way too big for your chest and way too fragile for you or anyone to play with it, so I thank you for trusting me with it, fully knowing that I could drop it and break it, but hoping that I won’t. I swear to you that I won’t, I’ll take care of your heart and protect you from whoever wants to hurt you. I will just ask one thing from you, and it’s for you to take mine and take care of it too, because we’ve both seen dark days and there’s no one in this world I trust more than you. I want you to know that you saved me when I was starting to believe love wasn’t real and showed me that every second I waited for you was worth it, I love you and will love you every day of my life”_

Mycroft had cried a little bit, just looking at him like he was the most precious thing on earth and Greg knew his speech was very simple, but what else could he said? He knew there were no words to describe what he felt for Mycroft. His threaded knew he loved him, he told him so every day, he knew Mycroft knew, and when it was the other’s turn to say his vows he was waiting for a similar speech.

To say Mycroft surprised him would be an understatement.

_“When I was thirteen I stopped believing love was a thing I wanted in my life, I just couldn’t understand why you would give your heart away in such manner, why would you trust a person so much that they could destroy you if they wanted but hope with your fingers crossed that they wouldn’t. I never understood why to believe happiness could only be achieved through love and then hope for the world not to rip it away from you, because people are fragile little things and depending on others was never seen as an advantage from my point of view. I buried myself in work and chained my heart inside a frozen prison, leaving it there to be protected from the world outside and anyone who wished to harm me. It wasn’t until later that I realized that I actually had left my heart to die in a block of ice._

_I realized I was trapped when I met you, and I felt things that I thought were only real in fiction; you made me feel butterflies and put my head in the clouds. You made me realize I wasn’t protecting myself, I was just insolating myself and making up excuses because I was afraid of living, you melted my heart and warmed my blood, you made me come alive again and helped me find myself when I thought everything was lost. You were the only light in the darkest moments of my life, and sometimes I still can’t believe all of this is real, but it is, and you’re here in front of me and suddenly nothing else matters._

_I understand now, because I trust you with all my secrets and all my poisons and hope for you to never use them against me, and I understand that happiness is different from what I thought it would be; it’s better, sweeter and it fills you from head to toes with purpose. I understand now, that you are indeed fragile and could be taken away from me, but that won’t happen without a fight and every second I get to spend with you is worth it. I love you more than I can say, and there’s no one in the world I'd rather be with for the rest of my life. If I get to spend every single day from here to my death with you by my side; then I’ll consider myself the luckiest man on earth and I’ll do my best to cherish you, and protect you and make you happy; because you deserve everything I can give you and more”_

By the time he was over no one was pretending anymore, they were all looking at them with bright eyes and some tears drying on their cheeks. Greg was actually speechless and could barely get over his emotions to finish the ceremony, he didn’t know how a bunch of words could hit him so hard in the chest but he could barely breathe and he couldn’t even try to control his own tears. He knew how Mycroft felt, he knew he was loved and he knew he had helped his loved one through some bad times, but he had never heard Mycroft say so in such a direct way, and less of all in front of a crowd.

When they finally got to kiss it was like time had stopped for a moment and nothing else in the universe mattered for them, there were stars dying somewhere, people being born… he couldn’t care about nothing that wasn’t Mycroft, in his arms and kissing him like his life depended on it, and maybe it did! He only knew that in that moment, every single day that he spent alone and believing there was nothing for him, was worth it. Mycroft Holmes was a man worth waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is the end, I'm sorry I got corny but I just can't handle weddings, they make me cry and it's just so amazing to see the love between the couples. I suck at vow writing, so I actually stole some parts from my friend's wedding speech, it was really beautiful and I feel like Greg and Mycroft would totally do such thing, at least the ones in my AU. I hope you liked the story and I love you all for taking the time to read it.


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